“If you weren’t my friend, I would begin to worry about your wits,” Sophie said. “You just gave that sovereign away.”

“Very likely,” Gabby said, feeling dispirited.

“And I would be very surprised to learn that Quill agreed to take that medicine.”

Gabby didn’t want to say that she could guarantee he wouldn’t take it. It was too humiliating; the whole business was so humiliating. Tears pricked her eyes.

Sophie took one look, tucked her arm under Gabby’s, and began walking back down the lane to where their carriages were waiting. “We shall have to discuss this, Gabby,” she said firmly. “I take it that Quill’s headaches are quite severe?”

“Yes, they are,” Gabby mumbled.

“All the same, who knows what Indian hemp might do to him? I find it hard to believe that Quill would take such a medicine—even a real and effectual one,” she said, mimicking Mr. Moore’s voice, “without knowing the consequences. What if it caused him further injury, Gabby?”

“I know,” she said miserably. “It’s just that when I saw the advertisement in the paper …” Her voice trailed off.

“His niece, ha! Moore placed that advertisement himself, the old quack.”

“You’re probably right.” Gabby couldn’t keep the bleak tone out of her voice.

“We need tea,” Sophie said suddenly. “Here. I’ll tell your carriage to follow, shall I?”

Gabby allowed herself to be handed into Sophie’s carriage by a footman. They went to Madam Clara’s Teashop for Ladies.

“This is my favorite place to drink tea in all London,” Sophie said cozily. “All the gossips watch one another while pretending not to, and since the tables aren’t close enough for eavesdropping, they suffer agonies of curiosity.”

Despite herself, Gabby started to cheer up at Sophie’s irreverent chatter. And then, over a cup of steaming tea—and after ascertaining that Sophie was indeed right, and no one could hear them over the chatter—Gabby blurted out the whole story.

“But you have to promise not to tell your husband,” she said at the end. “Please, Sophie!”

“Of course I won’t tell Patrick,” Sophie replied absently. “This story is nothing for a man to hear. Make him nervous and he’d start giving himself headaches out of sympathy.”

Gabby chuckled, but Sophie was still thinking out loud. “Quill’s old injury obviously triggers the migraines. How?”

“He has a large scar along his hip,” Gabby said dubiously.

“Too far from his head,” Sophie said.

“Well, perhaps not,” Gabby exclaimed, feeling a twinge of excitement. “What if the headaches are caused by using that hip?”

“Using? Oh, I see what you mean! Does it pain him to move that leg normally?”

“No, he’s never said that,” Gabby said. “But he does limp. And I have noticed that the limp is more pronounced when he’s tired.”